


Working for Tucker

by springburn



Series: The Thick of It mini-fics [51]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied terrorism, Trauma, post trauma sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:29:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen Evans is working as a temp for Malcolm Tucker.....she can't stand him......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working for Tucker

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really quite sure where this story came from.  
> It was inspired by a number of things...... 
> 
> An episode of Spooks, I watched years ago, which graphically showed an aftermath scene which stayed with me.  
> My own experiences in the medical field, (not exactly what I've written, of course, but treating patients afterwards, particularly regarding the way that shock affects us, and listening to their stories).  
> The wonderful speech in The Zygon Inversion, which I think will always stay with me, the part which most struck a chord was this......
> 
>  
> 
> "The Doctor: Ooooh it’s not fair. I didn’t realize that it was not fair. Well you know what? My tardis doesn’t work properly and I don’t have my own personal tailor.  
> Bonnie: The things don’t equate.  
> The Doctor: These things have happened Zygella, they are facts. You just want cruelty to beget cruelty. You’re not superior to people who were cruel to you. You’re just a whole bunch of new cruel people. A whole bunch of new cruel people, being cruel to some other people, who’ll end up being cruel to you. The only way anyone can live in peace is if they’re prepared to forgive. Why don’t you break the cycle?  
> Bonnie: Why should we?  
> The Doctor: What is it that you actually want?  
> Bonnie: War.  
> The Doctor: Ah. And when this war is over, when – when you have the homeland free from humans, what do you think it’s going to be like? Do you know? Have you thought about it? Have you given it any consideration? Because you’re very close to getting what you want. What’s it going to be like? Paint me a picture. Are you going to live in houses? Do you want people to go to work? What’ll be holidays? Oh! Will there be music? Do you think people will be allowed to play violins? Who will make the violins? Well? Oh, You don’t actually know, do you? Because, just like every other tantruming child in history, Bonnie, you don’t actually know what you want. So, let me ask you a question about this brave new world of yours. When you’ve killed all the bad guys, and it’s all perfect and just and fair, when you have finally got it exactly the way you want it, what are you going to do with the people like you? The troublemakers. How are you going to protect your glorious revolution from the next one?"
> 
> I have purposely left the question open as to the real cause of the events in the story. 
> 
> It is for the reader to decide what they think happened.
> 
> I'm not in the business of accusing or preaching.  
> It is a reality we live with today...... 
> 
>  
> 
> The Doctor says......  
> "The Doctor: Because it’s not a game, Kate. This is a scale model of war. Every war ever fought right there in front of you. Because it’s always the same. When you fire that first shot, no matter how right you feel, you have no idea who’s going to die. You don’t know who’s children are going to scream and burn. How many hearts will be broken! How many lives shattered! How much blood will spill until everybody does what they’re always going to have to do from the very beginning – sit down and talk! Listen to me, listen. I just – I just want you to think. Do you know what thinking is? It’s just a fancy word for changing your mind.  
> Bonnie: I will not change my mind.  
> The Doctor: Then you will die stupid. Alternatively, you could step away from that box. You could walk right out of that door, and you could stand your revolution down."
> 
> We need to talk.......

WORKING FOR TUCKER.

How his PA put up with him heaven alone knew.  
Swearing, shouting, ranting.  
Obnoxious and rude.  
Mouth like a toilet.  
A bully.  
Rumour had it, he once punched one of the advisors.

She soon knew what to make of him.  
Half the floor were terrified, an uneasy hush descended whenever he swept into the office.  
People kept their heads down, hiding behind their screens. Hoping it wouldn't be them he advanced upon, steely eyes blazing.  
Or they made themselves scarce, hastily dashing off to the loo.....taking their time returning to their desks.  
Afraid of him, SHE definitely wasn't!  
He didn't scare her one bit, with his stupid vein in his temple throbbing, waving his silly arms about, spitting as he shouted and bawled. If he picked on her, she'd give him what for! 

In fact Sam Cassidy, his long suffering PA, seemed to be the only person who escaped his wrath. To be fair to her she seemed immune anyway.  
Serene and calm. Unflustered by his shenanigans.  
Like soothing the wild beast. 

Today was much like any other.  
Except Sam was not at her desk. Which was odd, they all said, because she was never ill, never took time off sick, but today she was absent.  
Gossip was rife. She was pregnant.....by him.....or someone......or she'd had enough, couldn't stand him a moment longer, told him where to stick his job.....various other daft theories.  
She knew for a fact that none of it was true, Sam had laughed about it, to her once, after Malcolm paid her a compliment,  
"Half the office thinks we're fucking! Stupid idiots! It's not like that. They don't understand. We just get each other, know what's makes each other tick. It works."  
No, the truth was far less exciting, this was why she'd been hired in the first place, as a temp, it was all planned........Sam had a health scare, she was having a minor op.  
End of story. 

That morning was the quietest she'd ever known him.  
At lunchtime he left the office with a bouquet of flowers tucked under his arm. 

In the afternoon he was back to his usual self.  
Screaming down the phone at some poor unfortunate.  
Horrible man. 

Miss Samantha Cassidy was PA perfection.......big boots to fill!  
Frankly, she was dreading it.  
She'd started a couple of weeks before, to give Sam time to 'break her in'.  
That last day was hellish, her nerves were jangling. Tomorrow she'd be on her own.  
A list of things on her desk......what to do, when to do it.  
A pep talk before Sam left the night before.  
The last words she'd said before leaving were,  
"Look after him Gwen......"

Christ!  
She soon discovered that being Malcolm Tucker's PA meant being his mother, his nursemaid, his housekeeper, his bloody everything.  
Drat the man.....above and beyond her remit.  
As the days passed, however, she soon found out why he needed someone to be like that.  
If he was not provided with drinks, or food, he would never ask.......ever.  
He simply went without......all day.  
The hours he put in, the rate at which he worked, allowed little time for niceties....like eating!  
Fetching him in a clean shirt after a four hour meeting, was essential. So he could wash, shave, change, be ready for the next onslaught, it would be impossible for him to do all that himself, there just weren't enough hours in his day.  
So busy was his schedule, that if it were not organised to within an inch of its life, he would be unable to function.  
Yet he got things done.  
Achieved results. Watched people's backs. Limited damage. Chased miscreants. Saw that sound policy ideas got through, kept others at bay, kept the machine rolling, the cogs turning.  
Which was more than she could say for most of the other wasters who worked there.  
He never seemed to stop.

After the first few days a routine was established, she was beginning to get the hang of it.  
On the second morning he wished her a cordial good morning, as she handed him the radio tapes and interviews with which to brief himself at the start of the day.  
He'd not really addressed himself to her directly before, had only spoken to her through Sam, now she was the front line.  
"Thanks......Gwyneth isn't it?"  
"Yes. Coffee and a muffin.......? Right?"  
"Yep......thanks.......Welsh?"  
"Yes.....all the way back......"  
He nodded sagely.  
"Us Celts must stick together!"  
"No one calls me that though, friends call me Gwen ."  
Stupid woman, the words left her mouth before her brain caught up with her.  
"Does that include me?"  
She stuttered slightly, the implication if she said no, was that he wasn't her friend, nor did she wish him to be.  
"Of course!" She blushed.  
"Okay. Gwen it is then."  
That was it.  
First normal conversation she'd had with him. 

oOo

Sam returned, on half days at first, after a fortnight.  
Gwyneth was pleased to see her back, the two women were now fast friends, hit it off, had done right from the start. A mutual liking. A symbiosis.  
"You've done really well." She confided.  
"He has nothing but praise for you." 

Gwen was surprised. He'd not said a word, she'd just got on with it.  
Grateful she hadn't majorly cocked anything up.  
They decided to keep her on, if she was willing, she was an asset to the office.....apparently.  
The prospect of some stability, was tempting.  
Temporary work was all very well, but it was, by its very nature......temporary!  
There was certainly plenty of work for the both of them, Sam was still the main player, but, at least for the time being, she needed a second pair of hands.  
She also had a wedding to plan.....her own!  
Her engagement announced soon after her return. Quite a surprise to all, most didn't even know she'd been dating, assumed that her and her boss..........  
Malcolm had smiled at the news, kissed her on both cheeks, admired the ring, came back from lunch with a bouquet of roses.  
First time she'd seen him smile, she mused.....it suited him. 

oOo

It was a slow realisation.  
A dawning.  
The day it really hit her was when she accidentally overheard his conversation with the office cleaning lady.  
At ridiculous o clock, Malcolm was already in, goodness knows what time he'd arrived.  
The cleaners were there at five and finished up, usually before the business of the day began, today was different.  
Sitting at his desk weeping, he standing over her......Gwyneth wondered at first what was going on.  
"Look......don't worry," she heard him say, "I'll see what I can do........I've friends in the Foreign Office, I'll make some inquiries......nothing illegal you understand.....but I'll do my best.....okay?"  
He turned, somewhat guiltily as she walked in on them.  
"Ah! Gwen." He exclaimed.  
"Glad you're here. Would you get Mrs Salém a cup of tea. She's a bit upset."

It transpired that the said Mrs Salém was desperately trying to find what happened to her son, lost somewhere, back home in Somalia.  
Malcolm was helping, or at least trying to. 

Then there'd been certain other little hints.  
Sam mentioned casually that he'd either called her or been to see her every day when she'd been off sick.  
In his office there were pictures stuck on the walls, stick figures, flowers, animals, patterns....."to Uncle Malc, love from Kirsty."  
It didn't add up.  
Miserable, rude, scary Malcolm versus kind, caring, human being! 

The following day she mucked up, royally.  
Double booked him, tried to make amends, ended up muffing it, big time.  
Leaving him to apologise to one party and turn up late for a meeting with another.  
He was angry, rightly so.  
She was treated to his bollocking face.  
"Is it too much to fucking ask, Gwen! I mean....there's only one of me.....and magical though I am, I can't be in two fucking places at once."  
Rant over......she considered herself quite fortunate she hadn't received worse.  
Glancing at Sam, she found her friend smiling, knowingly.  
"What?" She demanded.  
"He likes you!" She gave a satisfied smirk. 

oOo

Six months in, and Gwyneth Evans had to admit something to herself, somewhat reluctantly.....  
Reluctantly because she prided herself on her astute evaluation of character.  
The truth was she'd been wrong about Malcolm Tucker.  
Now she knew why Sam had worked alongside him quite happily all this time.  
Hardly a cross word between them. Yes, they were colleagues, but they were friends too.  
Although it was something that was barely acknowledged.  
Out of all the people around him, only Sam really knew him well.....  
She knew him, and because she did, she saw what others didn't, and she liked him.  
Gwyneth was learning.  
She was growing to like him too. It was a slow process, but it was happening. 

Then, one sunny day, she saw him for the first time, out of the work environment. 

In the park. 

Wearing a fleece.........

Playing with his niece and nephew......the young artists responsible for those pictures on his office wall.  
He looked so completely different, she barely recognised him.  
Face somehow softer. Smiling. Relaxed.  
The three of them in their own little world, he was helping the little girl down the slide, holding her hand. When she reached the bottom, he picked her up and swung her up into the air, as she squealed with excitement.  
Gwyneth slunk away before he spotted her.  
There was an odd feeling somewhere deep in her chest. 

oOo

Around the time of Gwen's birthday, she'd worked for Malcolm for ten months.  
Sam was married now.  
The wedding had been a lovely affair. Such a joyful day. Gwyneth found a friend in Sam that she knew she'd have for the rest of her life.  
They'd drawn closer and closer as the weeks whizzed by.  
She never dreamed that this post would bring her such happiness.  
After the ceremony and speeches were done, people milled about, chatting. Waiting for the evening to begin in earnest.  
Gwyneth watched Sam draw Malcolm to one side.  
They spoke quietly for several minutes, then she reached up, kissed his cheek, and touched her hand to it. He smiled down at her, then turned away.  
She couldn't help wondering what was said. 

Later, when the dancing was in full swing, and her feet were killing her, Gwen slipped off her shoes, slinging them across one finger by the back strap, and toddled outside for a breath of much needed air.  
He was standing, in the garden area, by a little fountain. Glass in hand, staring off into the distance. Lost in thought.  
"Penny for them!"  
He turned on hearing her approach, then looked down at her stockinged feet, and laughed.  
"You'll rip your soles to bits on this gravel!"  
"Nah, it's fine.....bloody heels are killing me! Too much boogieing! You okay?"  
"Yeah. I guess, just being a fucking sentimental old twat that's all."  
He shifted uneasily, kicking at the stones with the toe of his shoe.  
"She looks lovely.....Sam......so happy."  
"Yep. Good on her, he's a nice guy. I'll miss her though."  
"She's not leaving is she? She hasn't said."  
"Not yet, but she will, it's inevitable......still.....that's as it should be. She doesn't want to spend the rest of her days working for this old cunt. But it's been a long time.....thick and thin.....you know?"  
Before she could reply, he looked down at her glass.  
"You're empty." He remarked, "can I get you another?"  
"Yeah....thanks. I'll come back inside, can I borrow your arm?"  
He crooked his elbow and she tucked her arm under his, half hobbling, half limping, across the pebbles as he slowly walked her back towards the hall. 

Winding down now, couples were taking the floor for slow dances.  
Gwen yawned, slid her feet into her sling backs again, wincing as she did so.  
"Still hurting?"  
She looked up to see him towering over her.  
"Not so bad now, thanks!" She smiled.  
"Up for a dance then? Or in too much pain?" His eyebrows were raised quizzically.  
"I'm up for it if you are!"  
He reached out a hand, and she placed hers in his. Leading her out with a flourish, his arm under her own.  
Wow, could he really dance? Properly?  
Heavens! Yes he could, she was propelled round the floor with consummate ease.  
Confident and sure, holding her close and firm, but with a deft touch.  
Her left hand resting on his right shoulder, their other hands clasped together, fingers entwined, her back warm where is right hand rested, making a little shiver run through her.  
The dance ended and he stepped back. Something in his face, what was it?  
Sadness? Fear? She wasn't sure. She couldn't read him.  
"That was lovely....thank you.....you're quite the Fred Astaire! Who'd a thunk!"  
He laughed, guiding her towards the bar, where she perched herself on a stool.  
"Drink?"  
"Just water, thanks.....I'm going soon."  
"How are you getting home?"  
"I have a cab booked, for twelve thirty."  
He nodded, seemingly satisfied, then looked away, his eyes scanning the dance floor thoughtfully.  
"I must say goodnight to Sam.....they'll be leaving in a minute or two and I want to catch her."  
"I'll see you in the office on Monday then."  
He turned back towards her, a slight look of frustration, clouding his face.  
"Right! Yes. Um.....okay. I'll um.....go find her."  
He seemed reluctant, torn. Eyes searching for hers, as if seeking connection, then leaning forwards, he pecked her cheek. Huffed a goodnight and was gone. 

oOo

That birthday was one Gwyneth would never forget.  
Not for a very long time. Probably never.

Looking back, the memories were crystal clear. But it was as if it happened to someone else, almost, not her.  
Or maybe it was a film that she'd watched, peering down onto the action, with the slow-mo on.  
Every tiny detail etched in her mind. A series of snap shots. 

The day began early, as per usual.  
Because Sam was still on her honeymoon, Gwen was taking an earlier tube and arriving before most other people in the office. She didn't mind early starts. It didn't bother her.  
She was not at Number Ten that week.  
Offices were out of action from time to time, and they shifted themselves to Whitehall, the windows almost overlooked the Cenotaph. Large balconied Georgian windows. Sturdy and serviceable.  
Just as well. 

Workers were slowly filing their way in, ready to start the day.  
Malcolm arrived shortly after her. A sheaf of papers tucked under his arm, and a distinctive cream bag, with black edging, balanced on one long finger.  
Walking up to her desk, he handed it over.  
"Happy Birthday!"  
She flushed scarlet, taking it from him, flustered.  
"Well open it then! It's not much, but......well....."  
Peeping inside, then pulling out the contents, she could see it was a Jo Malone set; candle, bath oil and lotion. Lime, basil and mandarin.  
"Oh my god! Malcolm! I love this stuff! How the bloody hell.....?"  
"I had help!" He said hurriedly, embarrassed, "I asked Sam what you liked! Can't take all the credit!"  
"Nevertheless, you still had to go and buy it!! Thank you Malcolm....so much. It's very sweet of you."  
She came round the desk, to give him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

 

It was the terrific sound. The volume of it. That's what she chiefly remembered. 

 

That and the rush of air. 

 

A shower of debris raining down. 

The blast blew them both up into the air, together.  
Then bought them down, landing several feet away.  
He'd thrown his body over hers instinctively, slamming against her, his arms wrapped around her head. 

His back to the window, his body shielded her from the worst, as shards of razor sharp glass scythed the air, shredding everything.  
His jacket, hands, one cheek, trousers; dozens of minuscule cuts, tiny stripes of red marring his skin.

Bits of ceiling, thick, powdery, penetrating dust billowing and coating the pair of them, plaster, wires from the overhead light fittings, falling onto them, as he lay across her, his weight almost painful. His grey hair now white, as if he'd been dowsed in flour.  
Coughing, sneezing, blood coming from his eardrums, and from hers. 

For a few seconds, after the initial explosion reverberated then died away, there was an eerie silence. 

Then chaos reigned.  
Pandemonium, a cacophony of screaming and cries, a crackle from live electrical wiring now dangling free, the splintering of wood from shattered furniture, people running, injured and bleeding, confused and disorientated. 

He struggled to his feet, shedding lumps of masonry, shreds of papers fluttering and floating down around him like autumn leaves.  
To Gwen everything was completely silent.  
Not a sound.  
He was shouting something to her, his lips moving, but no sound coming out.  
Alarms ringing urgently, sirens wailing, the rotors of helicopters, all mute to her ears.  
Lip reading......  
"OUT! GET YOURSELF OUT!" He was yelling at her, before choking and spluttering as the dust hit his lungs. 

He began ushering staff towards emergency exits, checking under desks, pulling chunks of wall out of the way. Helping people around him who were dazed and zombie like.  
All the time Gwen stood, stock still. Rooted to the spot. Unable to move, or to think.  
The silence now became a buzzing that was like a hornet trapped inside her head.  
It was not until he was certain that everyone was accounted for that he returned to where she was standing.  
Her nose was bleeding as well as her shattered eardrums, her eyes wide, cheeks lined with streaks of tears through the dust that coated her face, tears that she was unaware she'd been crying.  
He put a guiding and protective arm around her shoulder, turned her, and began to pick his way through the rubble, stumbling from time to time, until they were met by firemen, who led them out, emerging into the morning sunlight in a puff of smoke, as if they materialised as the result of a magic trick. 

oOo

She was shivering violently.  
Her teeth chattering. He took her hand, the back of his own lacerated and bloody, but he didn't seem to notice.  
Held it tight, she looked down at the hand, the thumb brushing over the back of hers, as if it were an alien object, then up to his face.  
Eyes scanning his own. Questioning, but quite unable to speak in words.  
She knew he was talking to her, but she could hear nothing. Everything seemed muffled and indistinct, whispers, like the sound of wind sighing in the trees, the wingbeat of a small bird. 

Then, as if something inside her head went pop......everything suddenly came back.  
Painfully loud.  
A high pitched whistle, a shriek, a roar of thunder inside her brain.  
Crying out she wrenched free from his grasp and placed both hands over her ears, trying to shut out the sound. She felt her skull would burst asunder.  
Sinking to the ground, in paroxysms of pain.  
He followed her down, onto his knees, his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, which did something to help quell the rushing noise.  
A paramedic reached them at that moment, and he helped her back to her feet. 

It was then she realised she was only wearing one shoe. 

With a foil blanket wrapped around her, she was lead away, limping, to the nearest vehicle, as she made to step aboard, Malcolm stepped back, moving away.  
"I'm alright, take her first." He said.  
A wave of abject panic swept over her.  
No, she could not be left alone, she would not be separated from him.  
At this moment, for whatever reason, he represented security. They would not be parted.  
"I'm not going." She stammered thickly, " not without him."  
"Gwen, I'll follow on....." He began.  
Her fear rising almost to the point of hysteria, she began to push the medic away, fighting to climb out of the ambulance again.  
"NO!" She cried. "NO! Let me off!"  
So agitated and frightened did she become, that the ambulance man became concerned.  
"Sir, perhaps you could accompany the young lady, those cuts of yours need seeing to anyway."  
With a glance at Gwen's terrified face, Malcolm relented.  
"Okay! Okay! Calm down. I'm coming with you!"  
He climbed aboard, and sat down next to her, she leaned against him, her relief palpable, shaking from head to foot, breathing shallow and ragged, unable to control it. 

They were treated on adjacent trolleys in a med bay in the A&E department, simply because Gwen seemed completely petrified if she lost sight of Malcolm, even for a moment.  
Apart from her ears, and dust inhalation, she had hardly a scratch.  
His cuts were cleaned and treated and they were both to be allowed home, after a brief interview with Police Officers from the scene and leaving their names and addresses. 

Still with an arm around her, they emerged together, patched up and more or less whole.  
Gwen still shook like a leaf in a storm, a tremor running through her whole body as she clung to Malcolm's tattered jacket.  
"I have no handbag. No keys. Nothing. I can't get into my house." She murmured, the tremble in her voice, so marked, that Malcolm instinctively tugged her closer.  
"Don't worry. I'm not leaving you alone, you're coming home with me. You can't possibly be by yourself. I'll get us a cab."  
His iPhone was smashed, but he placed a call from the booth at the reception. Within a few minutes a taxi pulled up. 

oOo

Unlocking his front door, he helped her inside.  
Into the kitchen, kettle on, cups out.  
Tea.  
Strong and sweet, and hot.  
Her hands trembled as she sipped it, glancing up at him over the rim of the cup.  
"Was it a bomb do you think?" She whispered.  
"Maybe. Could have been a gas explosion I suppose. Unlikely I'd have thought. Fuck! It was a close thing. Fuck!"  
He sank down at the kitchen table, splaying his hands on the surface in front of him, and staring down at them.  
"What time is it?" She let her gaze travel around the room, looking for a clock.  
He looked at his wrist watch, but the dial was broken.  
The digital clock on the cooker said eleven fifteen.  
Gwen set down her cup, nausea rising within her.  
"Malcolm?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I think I'm going to be sick."  
In one movement she was on her feet and he was holding the back of her neck as she leaned over the sink, retching and heaving.  
Only the tea came up, there was nothing much else in her stomach. Her legs felt so weak, they could barely support her weight.  
She leaned back, into him, her forehead drenched in perspiration, yet quaking as if she were frozen, clawing at her throat as she tried to catch her breath.  
"I need to lie down, I feel like I'm going to pass out." She gasped, as she fumbled for his hand.  
"I've got you." She sat down heavily and he pushed her head forwards over her knees.  
"What you need is a shower and some sleep."  
Raising her head, she looked at him, trying to focus.  
"So do you!" She replied.  
"Let's get you upstairs, you can wash and I'll find you something to wear, then....bed!"  
Gwen meekly allowed him to lead her.  
"It feels odd to think about bed in the middle of the morning. But it feels like I've been up for hours and hours and I'm so desperately tired. You won't leave me though, will you? Please? Please Malcolm?"  
Her eyes were pleading and Malcolm did his best to reassure her.  
"I'm going nowhere, I'm right here, okay? Let's get your things off....do you want me to help you or can you manage?"  
"I'll do it."  
Lifting her skirt she shimmied out of the tattered remains of her tights, her legs were bruised, and had a few small lacerations, but she was, amazingly, relatively unscathed. A puff of white dust settled on the floor as she removed them.  
The buttons of her blouse proved too much. Her fingers shook so violently that it was impossible to undo them. Malcolm, gently pushed her hands aside, and began to unfasten them for her.  
He was so close, that she could feel his breath on her face, a wave of emotion seemed to wash over her, and she started to cry, gently at first, but gathering momentum as the reality of what had happened began to hit her.  
"Hey! Hey!" He whispered, "come on, it's okay! You're okay!"  
His lips touched hers, so gently, to hush her, to comfort her, pulling her into his body, surrounding her with his arms.  
She sobbed into his mouth, pressing herself against the warmth of him, desperate for the contact, the strength in his wiry limbs, the reassuring feel of another vital, living being, close to her.  
They undressed each other, peeling off their ripped and tattered filthy rags, only breaking the kiss long enough to remove everything.  
His back and the backs of his legs were peppered with marks from the debris that had fallen on him.  
There followed a slow and deliberate exploration of their own bodies, broken only by tender kisses, each scratch or scar, covered by his lips, or the salve of her tongue.  
Her sobs did not subside, punctuated by keening moans, her whole frame quivering with fear, shock, and need.  
They showered together, standing under the flow of water, holding each other, each feeling the others proximity, afraid to let go, as the dust and grit washed away down the plug hole, pooling around their feet before disappearing forever.  
Squeezing shampoo into his hand, he lathered her hair, as she turned to face away from him, his fingers massaging her scalp, cleansing her of the smell of destruction, tilting her head backwards as the water streamed over her, his lean frame against her back.  
She twisted around again, leaning her head against his chest, arms around his middle, her shoulders still shaking, tears flowing freely and mingling with the soap suds. 

They dried each other off. A tender ritual, the feel of warm towels against their bodies.  
He found cotton boxers and an old soft t-shirt for her to wear, they swamped her, but it didn't matter. Putting on his own underwear, they crawled into bed together. 

oOo

 

Exhaustion seemed to sweep over them both like a rip tide. It dampened their ardour, but the need for simple human contact did not diminish.  
She craved his nearness, his potency, the scent of him, the touch of his skin.  
Just to feel alive, knowing they came so close, needing solace and support, a sense of oneness.  
They slept wrapped together, curled into each other's bodies, legs and arms a tangle, heads close, a deep dreamless sleep, which blotted out all fear and emotion, all care and worry. 

Waking after some hours, Malcolm rose shakily, made tea for them both, bringing it back to bed.  
They drank thirstily, relishing the extra warmth.  
She snuggled back against him, with a juddering sigh.  
"Hold me Malcolm, please, just hold me. I need.......I need......."  
Her voice uncertain, reed thin. Hardly above a whisper.  
Bringing his head down, his mouth seeking out and finding hers, hungrily devouring, capturing her lips over and over again, he too craving the succour that only she seemed to offer.  
His blood flowed hot within him, coursing wildly through his veins, his heart beating strong and sure, reminding him with every throb against his ribs that he was alive, vigorous, fully functioning.  
He'd beaten the odds, won the game. Triumphed.  
He felt powerful, omnipotent, almost super human.  
The sensation pulsing through him, pooling in his groin, filling him with a burning desire.  
"Malcolm...." She spoke softly between his urgent kisses.  
"It's my birthday......today is my birthday......." She began to weep quietly, "we could have died, oh God, right there, on my birthday....."  
"Hush, Gwen, hush now, kiss me.....kiss me Gwen, I just need you to. Let me touch you, let me surround you, love you, let me Gwen, please?"  
His mouth was on her neck now, her throat, her shoulders, down between her breasts, rapid determined kisses, that inflamed her.  
"Yes, Malcolm, don't waste any more time, don't hesitate, take me, take me now and make me yours, fuck me, fuck me hard....I need to feel you, all of you, I need to know I'm alive, I need you inside me, just do it, please!"  
His heart hammered within him, his long fingers feeling between her legs, finding her clit, insistent, unrelenting, driving her onwards, no finesse, no thought of anything other than their mutual completion.  
Bucking unashamedly against his hand, she begged him to enter her, breathless and wanton.  
He took her roughly, slamming into her with a feral growl, her head thrown back in a strangled cry of pure lust.  
Mouth open, body arched, moaning aloud with every wicked thrust of his member, making sounds she'd never made in her entire life.  
Straining every sinew in his neck, his muscles taut, eyes tightly shut, he came, pumping into her as if his very life force was leaving him, filling her, pulsing deep, pushing her over the edge with him, as each ripple ripped through him, she screamed his name, and he collapsed down onto her, panting and gasping, with the effort and intensity. 

oOo

Drowsy, and post coital. Neither one making a move to rise and clean themselves.  
Completely spent.  
Their sweat mingled and dried.  
Neither cared.  
Lying in a haze of forgetfulness.  
Warm, safe, comfortable.  
Alive, very much alive, they had affirmed it......together.  
Proved it beyond any shadow of doubt.  
They needed nothing more. 

Malcolm sat in his kitchen, avidly scanning the television screen.  
Watching the evening news footage, as it played over and over on each successive bulletin.  
Unable to draw his eyes away from the devastation, the carnage, he could see the window, near to where he'd been standing, blown out, the broken remains of Venetian blinds flapping in the wind.  
The empty street, cordoned off, blue lights flashing, reflecting the blue of his eyes.  
Gwen sidled in behind him, threading her arms around his neck, nuzzling it. He closed his hand over her forearm, as they crossed under his collarbones, stroking gently.  
"There were no fatalities......" he murmured, " it's a fucking miracle."  
"What you did......getting everyone out. How did you do it? So brave, keeping a level head, when everything was chaos. You were amazing Malcolm."  
"I was fucking scared shitless. It's not bravery, it's just fucking adrenaline.....kicks in, takes over."  
She cupped his face, kissing him tenderly, he reciprocated eagerly,  
"Not a one off then.....what we did earlier? It wasn't just a post trauma thing?"  
His face betrayed his inner torment.  
He wasn't sure, couldn't tell, didn't dare hope she might want him for real, and not just as a haven in the storm.  
"Not just a one off, no. Sam told me I'd fall in love with you. She said I wouldn't be able to help myself. She was right. So definitely not a one off.......for keeps.....if you'll have me?"  
"If I'll have you? If I'll sodding have you? Fucking fuck me! I fell for you six months ago! When you double booked me, and I wanted to bollock you.....and found that I couldn't! That's when I knew!  
Then Sam took me to one side at the wedding.....told me to stop twatting about and ask you out! What about you.....? When?"  
"When I saw you in the park......with your niece and nephew.......bam! Right between the eyes! No going back!"  
"So it seems Sam is some kind of psychic witch then......doesn't really surprise me!" He smiled, and drew her onto his lap.  
"Hey, guess what?" She said softly, snuggling into him.  
"What?"  
"It's still my birthday! I guess escaping with my life, and being here with you right now, are the best gifts I'll ever be given. So thank you, Malcolm."  
He planted a kiss on the corner of her mouth.  
"Happy Birthday, love!" 

Fin.


End file.
